


Sad Cowboy Songs

by MooeyDooey



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, I dont even like (most) country music but I made a whole fic about it who am I, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, This was supposed to be a drabble it turned into 6k words, guitar playing, special appearance by Lucio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7585648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooeyDooey/pseuds/MooeyDooey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but sometimes it is through his taste in music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sad Cowboy Songs

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS SO MUCH AGAIN to my pal temporalesca who beta'd and edited this fic for me!! She's great for putting up with my gay nonsense, u da bomb dot com 
> 
> See the end for links to the songs mentioned in this fic!

No matter what hour of the day, be it morning or night, Overwatch headquarters was an active location. 

Despite being top of the line, their security system still required one or two members of Overwatch to be stationed as lookouts throughout the evening. Those travelling often returned from their missions during the middle of the night or left for other destinations before the sun rose. Those whose internal clock wasn’t off sync with their current location might settle down for the night, but even then sleep wasn’t the easiest thing to come by. Whether it was from a troubled past or anxiety for the days and missions to come, it was not uncommon to see operatives wandering through the halls or around the outside of the base when they should have been resting in bed. 

Hanzo was thankful that his nightly trips were not questioned (though he knew some still held suspicions about his behavior). The constant low buzz of activity made it hard to find true seclusion, even on the expansive grounds of their home base. For this reason, when sleep evaded him, Hanzo made his way up to the rooftops. 

On the rooftops, Hanzo was free to do as he pleased. He could watch the grounds, discover new things about the watchpoint he had not noticed from below, or simply find a place to sit alone with his thoughts. 

His discoveries had always been visual, but one night, there was a sound. A new sound, so soft that he briefly considered he imagined it. He sat still, carefully taking in his surroundings to try to track the source of the noise. 

No, not noise.

Music. 

Hanzo moved across the rooftops, warily seeking out where the music was coming from. He had learned the same lesson many times over in his life; he never assumed the safety of his surroundings until he personally confirmed the lack of danger. 

His worries eased after he rounded over one of the rooftops and found the source. 

One of his teammates sat not too far from the building, resting lazily under one of the garden trees while his hands moved over the wooden guitar in his arms. One hand held the neck of the guitar, while his mechanical one moved smoothly over the strings. 

The Cowboy. 

Hanzo silently scolded himself for not having come to that assumption on his own. Now that he saw the man before him he recalled a moment he had witnessed weeks ago, on one of the nights that everyone gathered in the mess hall for “team bonding”. 

The others had extended an invitation to the gathering out of courtesy, and Hanzo in turn politely declined. While he was entirely sure that some of the members of Overwatch would be indifferent or enthusiastic about his presence there, he also knew that certain operatives would be wary about his attendance. Additionally, Hanzo prefered keeping to himself or interacting with smaller groups of people. Despite Genji’s objections, Hanzo was convinced that no good could come of forcing that sort of uncomfortable situation during a time designated for relaxation. 

He had spent the night wandering the base instead, exploring the areas that were not restricted. His travels had brought him past the mess hall at one point. He had made a point to avoid the open doors, so no one would see him, but could hear the wild excitement happening within the cafeteria. There was loud laughter, whoops and hollers, people banging on tables and stomping their feet to the beat led by an improvised band. From the sound of it, Hanzo could pick out a harmonica, guitar, and what he assumed were pots and pans being used for makeshift drums. 

He had only caught a sliver of the sight from his position. Of the music and singing led by a tall man with a cowboy hat and rugged beard. 

He turned on his heel and left before he felt tempted to stick around and risk detection. 

But the music in the mess hall had been loud, rowdy and boisterous. The song that had led Hanzo across the rooftops to the garden was a sweet and slow melody. 

Hanzo was pulled from his thoughts as a new sound entered the cool night air, a deep baritone voice joining in with the music coming from the guitar.

_“The red-headed stranger from Blue Rock, Montana,_  
_Rode into town one day._  
_And under his knees was a ragin' black stallion,_  
_and walkin' behind was a bay._

_The red-headed stranger had eyes like the thunder,_  
_And his lips, they were sad and tight._  
_His little lost love lay asleep on the hillside,_  
_And his heart was heavy as night.”_

Hanzo knew about country music. If anyone had asked for for his opinion on it previously, he might have scoffed and referred to it as unattractive noise, or ignored the question entirely. But the music Hanzo had known in the past was wild and energetic, similar to what he had heard from the mess hall. As far as he knew, Country Music was singing about big trucks and pretty women, about going fast in places you are meant to go slow and being bigger and better than anyone else. 

This was different. It was slow, and rang out with a deep tired sadness. There was still a certain pride in it, but mixed with years of pain and lonely wandering. 

_“Don't cross him don't boss him he's wild in his sorrow, he's ridin' and hidin' his pain. Don't fight him don't spite him let's wait till tomorrow maybe he'll ride on again”_

Hanzo’s better judgement told him to leave. It told him to turn back, to leave the lonely cowboy to his private thoughts and sweet sad music, to find some other spot on the roofs far away and return back to his own thoughts. He knew it was the right course of action, and yet found himself moving down slowly to a crouching position, then sitting, as if approaching a wild animal that would flee if he moved too quickly. 

He sat, quietly, and he listened. 

The song was a story. The story of a man who had lost his wife, and spent his days roaming with the horse she left behind. The day he came back into town he was seen by a blonde haired woman, who made plans to steal the horse away from him. She tried to seduce him at first, unsuccessfully, then tried making off with the horse while he was distracted. 

The story ended with the stranger shooting the blonde haired woman. He left the town once more, pardoned for the killing since he acted to defend his property. 

Don’t cross him, don’t boss him, he’s wild in his sorrow… 

The cowboy’s voice suited the song well. Hanzo wondered if it was because the other man felt a personal connection to the story, or if it was something that all cowboys carried with them in their hearts. 

Even after the man stopped singing, the song come to it’s conclusion, he continued to play on his guitar. 

\- - - - - 

_‘Don’t cross him, don’t boss him, he’s wild in his sorrow. He’s riding and hiding his pain. Don’t fight him, don’t spi-’_

“You know, if you want music while you work I could set up a radio over here for you!” 

A voice cut into Hanzo’s thoughts, snapping him back into the present moment. 

It was not Lucio’s presence that shocked him, it had been many years since anyone had managed to sneak up on Hanzo (especially those not attempting to be stealthy). What made Hanzo pause in his work, scrubbing dishes in the sink since their dishwasher was broken and in need of repairs, was the topic of conversation. 

Hanzo hadn’t realized he was humming. Ever so faintly under his breath, something that would have been covered up by the sound of running water from the sink if Lucio hadn’t come up directly beside him to grab a clean mug from Hanzo’s finished pile of work. 

Hanzo didn’t like surprises. His brows pushed together, pulling his hands from the sink. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Hanzo said. It must have come out with more force than he meant it to, accompanied with the stern look on his face, as he saw Lucio take a small step back. 

Hanzo sighed, trying his best to pull back that intimidating aura. 

“No, thank you,” Hanzo added after, trying to sound polite. 

A radio wouldn’t sound half as sweet as the Cowboy had. 

That wasn’t an explanation that Hanzo was willing to offer up. 

Thankfully he didn’t need the explanation. Lucio gave him a small shrug, and one of his brightest smiles to show a sense of understanding. 

“Just throwing it out there, if you ever want the hook up. I’ve got you,” Lucio said as he began search through the cabinets. “Sick tune though! Sounds familiar, where’s that from?” 

Hanzo reached for the hand towel he had by the sink, drying his hands quickly. 

“It’s nothing,” he said curtly. Unsure how else to explain it, and unable to come up with a decent excuse or way to divert the topic of conversation, he turned on his heel and left, towel still in hand. 

Lucio stayed behind, somewhat confused. He tried to call out before Hanzo was too far gone to speak with. 

“Hey uh, you forgot the … sink…” Lucio said, looking back to the dirty dishes still stacked in the sink, the faucet running. 

“Guess I’ll just… finish that up for you,” Lucio said with a resigned sigh, putting his mug and quest for hot chocolate aside to complete the work Hanzo had begun. 

\- - - - 

Hanzo had not meant for his one-sided interaction with the Cowboy to continue beyond that night. 

(McCree. Hanzo knew his name, but the term “Cowboy” fit him so well it was hard to think of him as anything else). 

And yet, Hanzo found himself wandering out in the dead of night with increasing frequency. First he had the convenient excuse of needing to learn his way around the expansive home base, then it was “not being able to sleep and needing fresh air to clear his mind”. Logically, the rooftops were the best choice for clear air and solitude. And on the nights that he found McCree outside, sitting under a tree in the garden with his hat tipped down over his face and his mechanical fingers strumming his guitar, Hanzo sat behind him on the nearest roof. He stayed hidden away in the shadows, legs crossed and eyes closed while he listened to the stories the cowboy sang. 

For weeks this pattern continued. 

In the beginning there were nights that Hanzo would seek McCree out and not find the man, or he’d track the cowboy down only to find him busy with some other activity besides playing his guitar. On those nights found himself returning to his old habits. He trained with his bow, and felt rusty and frustrated any time he thought of the full-bodied smell of cigars and missed a shot. He made tea for himself. He took showers, laid in bed and tried to clear his thoughts and glared at the ceiling, willing sleep to come through sheer obdurate determination 

He didn’t venture out when McCree was away on a mission. 

Weeks went by like this, happening more and more until Hanzo was able to track McCree’s solitary musical performance on a nightly basis. He didn’t always play in the same garden, he’d sometimes move farther away from the home base by the cliffs, sometimes would simply open his window and sing while sitting on the windowsill. No matter where McCree played, there was always a shadowed area close by where Hanzo could hide himself. 

Then one night things changed. 

It was back in the gardens, the first place Hanzo had listened to McCree’s guitar playing. 

The night had begun as all the other nights before. 

_“Like a bird on the wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, I have tried in my way to be free,”_ Mcree sang. 

Hanzo recognized this song by now. It was one of his favorites. 

Sometimes when the cowboy sang, he used phrases that Hanzo was unfamiliar with. This was not one of those songs. This was a song that Hanzo could understand word for word, and found that he understood the meaning of the song as a whole as well. 

The part that struck Hanzo the most was a verse about halfway into it. 

_Like a baby, stillborn,_  
_like a beast with his horn_  
_I have torn everyone who reached out for me._  
_But I swear by this song_  
_and by all that I have done wrong_  
_I will make it all up to thee._

How many people had Hanzo torn up, whether physically or metaphorically, with his misguided attempts to please his family? 

His cause had been a noble one. What he did, he did for honor. Yet his blind obedience, driven by respect, had destroyed the very things he wanted so desperately to protect. 

Hanzo waited until it was too late to find his own purpose in life, and the price of that freedom would haunt him for the rest of his days. 

The cowboy had finished singing, but continued to play the song on his guitar. It was something he did very often, letting the song drag on a few more minutes before it smoothly transitioned into some other score. 

And then. 

“You know, lil’ bird… You don’t have to camp up there in the dark. Got a spot for you right down here,” McCree’s voice rang out into the night. 

Hanzo frowned. Those _weren’t_ the lyrics to the song. Had McCree added a new verse? Or was this an alternate version? 

But he wasn’t singing. He was talking and had raised his voice. 

Hanzo cursed quietly. 

He briefly considered the merits of retreating away from the potentially awkward conversation to follow. He could slip back and make a run for it. He doubted the other man would try to catch him if he did. The real question was whether or not McCree would bring the event up when they inevitably ran into one another later on a mission, or worse, in front of their teammates. 

No matter how he looked at the situation, it appeared to be too late to avoid facing McCree. With as much dignity as he could muster he stepped out from his hiding place and jumped down from the roof and into the garden. Once he appeared at McCree’s side, he stayed standing up. 

McCree continued his soft guitar playing the whole time, soft enough so it didn’t disturb the conversation. 

“... How long were you aware of my presence?” Hanzo finally asked when it became clear that McCree had no intention of continuing their conversation past the invitation he extended. 

“Oh, I’d say ‘bout… three weeks now,” McCree responded, without turning his head to look in Hanzo’s direction, gaze still fixed on the garden and night sky in front of him. He sounded friendly and welcoming enough however, no sign of anger or ill-feelings. “Gotta hand it to you, usually don’t take that long for me to figure out I’m being followed. You’re a real sneaky fella, Mister Shimada.”

Hanzo furrowed his brow even more, frowning as well now. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this man was mocking him. It did not matter how well he played music, Hanzo would not stand by and let anyone make a fool of him. 

“If you knew, you should have said something sooner,” he replied, attempting to keep his composure and not let the cowboy fluster him. 

“My apologies,” McCree said. The hint of amusement in his voice made Hanzo question if the apology was truly sincere or not. “Really now, didn’t mean any harm by it. Just wanted to see how long you’d keep it up for,” McCree added, as if reading Hanzo’s thoughts. 

“And now you know,” Hanzo said. He felt uncomfortable, ashamed, as if he had been caught doing something vile. McCree’s aloof attitude towards the situation did very little to ease that discomfort. 

“Now I know,” McCree parroted back. 

“If you do not need anything else from me-” Hanzo began. He had the intention of excusing himself and perhaps apologize properly later after he had time to clear his thoughts, but McCree cut him off. 

“Wouldn’t call it a ‘need’, per se, but I’d be real happy if you joined me.” 

“... joined you?” Hanzo asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“Yeah. Go on then, pop a squat.”

“... a _squat_.” 

McCree laughed then, so sudden and loud he had to stop his guitar playing for a moment to regain his composure.

“Means ‘Sit Down’, unless you got somewhere else to be,” McCree explained. Then after one more moment of silence, “... Come on man, don’t make me start beggin’. I mean, I sure will if that’s what it takes, but that’s not really my ‘style’”. 

Hanzo knew his best course of action would be excusing himself for the evening, and yet found himself swayed by the cowboy’s words. He sat down on the ground next to McCree, keeping enough room between them for each man to have his own personal space. 

The mere act of sitting seemed to please McCree well enough, who stopped playing once again to politely tip his hat towards Hanzo. It was far easier to see McCree’s face once Hanzo was on the same level as him. McCree’s smile looked less cocky than when the brim of his hat did not hide his eyes away from sight. The smile suddenly seemed to make sense, genuinely and friendly. 

“Got any requests?” McCree asked once Hanzo was clearly settled. 

Hanzo shook his head, politely. 

“I do not have a request. You may play however you please,” he said. 

McCree shrugged, his fingers already shifting the chords around on the guitar to segway into another song. 

“I’ll go with some Willie Nelson then. Can’t go wrong with Willie Nelson”

As McCree sang of blue eyes crying in the rain, of lost love, Hanzo watched the moon shining brightly in the sky. 

That night, they didn’t leave until all the stars had faded, and the rising sun finally forced them inside to join the others for breakfast. 

\- - - - - 

“You are a very lucky man, Mister McCree.” 

“Oh? And what makes you think that? I mean, hell if I ain’t lucky. But I’m wondering where you’re pullin’ that information from” 

“You are lucky that I did not meet you in person before I heard your singing. If we had spoken before, my first impression of you would have been quite different.” 

“Because I would have swept you off your feet right away?” 

“ _Because_ , I would have thought you were nothing more than a simple idiot.” 

“Ha! Oh come on, I ain’t that bad!” 

“You most certainly are.” 

“Shucks. And here I thought you were startin’ to like me,” McCree said, his smile never leaving his face. 

“If I did not enjoy your company, I would not spend my evenings with you,” Hanzo replied, matter of factly. He still spoke very carefully, each word precisely picked, but spoke with a smile. 

In only a few short weeks, the two had developed a sort of ‘friendship’ with one another. Hanzo wouldn’t know what else to call it. For the first time in a long time, he felt comfortable settling down next to another person. They met on almost a nightly basis now, or at the very least sent messages to one another to explain if they would be absent from their new routine. 

McCree reached for the half-finished bottle of bourbon between them, and ever the gentleman, filled Hanzo’s small ceramic cup for him before he went to refill his own. 

“Mind if I get that down in writing? Reckon no one can call me an idiot around here if I got the “Hanzo seal of approval” to vouch for me,” McCree said. 

“You are still an idiot,” Hanzo started, raising his hand to silence McCree before he could retort with his prepared ‘Hey, now hold on a second-’. “But. You are also many other things, as well.”

“Like lucky?” 

Hanzo’s smile widened a bit, chuckling lightly. “Yes, Lucky. And skilled. Reckless, but skilled,” he continued. 

“A man’s gotta have style,” McCree said, with a tip of his hat. 

“Your ‘style’ is very loud.” 

“Ha! Ain’t that the truth!” McCree replied, offering his cup out to tap it against Hanzo’s in a mock toast. Hanzo indulged the other man, finding that he enjoyed the excited spark McCree got in his eyes when he was humored. Their ceramic cups made a ‘clink’ as they tapped each other, followed by both men taking a generous gulp of the strong alcohol. 

Hanzo stopped halfway through the cup, an attempt to pace himself, while McCree knocked back the full serving like a shot. 

“Man, that’s strong…” McCree mused, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He set his cup aside and exchanged it for the guitar. “Let’s get back to it then,” he said and started to tune the instrument. “What’ll it be, Han?” 

McCree always asked Hanzo for requests, and every time he gave the same answer. 

“Play anything.” 

And McCree answered with the same joke, every time. 

“ ‘Anything’? Not sure I know that song. Mind humming a bit of it for me, jog my memory a bit?” McCree asked, sarcastically, with his cocky self-satisfied grin. 

Hanzo rolled his eyes. 

“That joke was not funny the first time you said it, and it shall not be amusing the next time either,” Hanzo commented. 

“Well, I think I’m hilarious,” McCree said. But he let it drop, with a low laugh, leaning back on the wall behind them to lounge as he began to play. “Fair ‘nuff. Let’s see… what to play… How about some Brown Eyes Cryin’ in the Rain?” 

“No.” 

Hanzo replied so quickly that it stopped McCree for a moment, his brows knit together as if worried he had somehow offended his companion. 

“Really? Damn, thought you liked that one,” McCree said. 

“I do like it. But those are not the words,” Hanzo explained. “It is not ‘Brown Eyes Crying in the Rain’, it is Blue.”

McCree’s shoulders sagged back down, realizing the nature of Hanzo’s negative response. He shook his head and smiled to himself. 

“Damn, that was a mighty fine slip up. You’re right. Blue eyes, not brown,” McCree said. His fingers began to strum out a different tune. “Let’s try this then… Same story, different tune.” 

Hanzo didn’t need an introduction. He recognized it from the first few notes.

As “I Fall to Pieces” rang out into the night, Hanzo felt the sudden urge to move his hand out and place it on McCree’s shoulder, his back, his knee, anywhere on the other man. 

He refrained, settling for moving in closer, and turned his attention back to the moon above them. 

\- - - - - 

It had rained at headquarters plenty of nights, but then one night it stormed. 

On the rocky cliffs of their current locations, storms were not rare to come by. The nearby ocean brought in wind and rain from the horizon, and even the remnants of tropical storms could cause the sturdy guarded safe-hold to shudder with resistance. The operatives had been warned of the possibility, but it still managed to unsettle everyone when their safety precautions finally had to be put into place. 

It started with a call out on the comms, ordering everyone back inside before the rain began to fall. They spent hours covering windows and moving important training equipment and anything they didn’t want potentially destroyed by the downpour into storage rooms. Soon the storage rooms filled with dummies, potted plants, flags,hammocks, and a weather vane that Junkrat had grown unreasonably fond of. 

Once they had located everything safely inside, the storm began. 

Even with the steps they had taken to secure the watchpoint, the power of the thunderstorm was brutal. Rain beat against the sheet metal and sounded more like an armed assault than natural forces. Each crack of thunder rattled the base to it’s core. 

They all stayed together through the worst of it. Time dragged on during that hour, the hushed murmurs of wary conversation barely audible over the howling wind roaring from outside. 

Something must have hit their primary generator with enough force to cause the first power supply to shut down completely. There was darkness, pitch black, before the lights came back at half their power, fueled by the second back-up generator. 

Even when the storm calmed, the worst of the danger behind them, they gathered together and confirmed what they had already known from the beginning. Due to the nature of the storm and the unpredictable weather patterns, no one would be allowed outside for the duration of the evening. The back-up generator was enough to power the lights and keep basic security systems running, but it would need to be heavily monitored by a few trained members of the team. Those who were not assigned to security were free to go anywhere inside of home-base to spend the rest of the night, heavily encouraged to try to avoid all use of electronics unless strictly necessary. By Winston’s calculations they had enough power to keep Athena functional for the night, until morning came and they could send a team out to repair the primary generator, but the scientist did not want to take any chances. 

With a final firm warning and a heavy recommendation that ‘retiring for the night may be in your best interest’, the members of Overwatch were dismissed. 

McCree and Hanzo excused themselves from the others, talking in low voices at the outskirts of the room. 

“This is very unfortunate,” said Hanzo. 

“Why so glum, Han? Did Chevrolet stop makin’ trucks?” asked McCree. 

“As far as I am aware they stopped manufacturing many years ago. But no. That is not the reason for our misfortune,” Hanzo explained. “If the storm does not let up tonight, we have nowhere left to meet.”

“Well, you don’t need the open night sky to enjoy some good ol fashioned guitar playin,” McCree said. 

“It is not the environment that is important to me. It is… the seclusion. I enjoy my time alone with you,” Hanzo explained. “Your guitar playing tends to draw attention.” 

“Mmh. Good point. Maybe if we hijack one of the training rooms? That’s got a pretty solid lock on it, and the rooms are sound-proof so the noise wouldn’t carry down the halls,” McCree offered. 

Hanzo shook his head. 

“Those rooms echo, and would sound unpleasant,” he said. “I am also wary of the cameras. Security has been increased tonight, someone will be watching the security feed from all of the cameras inside for the rest of the evening.”

“Yeah, but it’s just Winston,” McCree said. 

“Still. I wouldn’t be comfortable with the idea,” Hanzo said. 

Just when Hanzo was ready to give up, to call it a night and part ways from his nightly companion, McCree’s expression turned from deep thought to sudden inspiration. 

“... ‘reckon I know one sound-proof room with a camera you can disable,” McCree mused. 

He took hold of Hanzo’s wrist, leading him out of the room. 

\- - - 

Hanzo had been inside of McCree’s bedroom before, but never for more than a few minutes. He had accompanied the cowboy a few times before on short visits before their outings ( _‘Oh shoot, forgot the whiskey. Mind taking a detour with me?’_ ). 

This was the first time McCree closed the door behind them. 

“Make yourself comfortable, anywhere you like,” McCree said.

The sounds of the storm outside, the heavy rain assaulting the metal protective sheets keeping them all locked safely inside and the occasional boom of thunder, were a ever present white noise in the background. 

Hanzo surveyed the room. Although McCree had offered Hanzo any seat he desired, that still left the archer with very few options. There were no cushions, one flimsy chair that looked ready to break from the amount of clothes piled on top of it, or the floor, but only if he moved around enough of McCree’s possessions to clear a spot big enough to sit on. 

McCree peeked over his shoulder and watched as Hanzo smoothed out the sheets on the end the bed and sat down. 

“I was under the impression that all dorm rooms were monitored,” Hanzo said. 

McCree grinned triumphantly, and shoved the pile of clothing on his lone chair off onto the floor. 

“Sure are,” he confirmed. 

McCree brought the chair over to the side of the room, standing up on it and ignoring the shriek of resistance the wood gave under his feet. 

“But a man’s gotta have his privacy. I mean sure, they leave the cameras outta the bathrooms, but I’m not sitting my bare ass on cold tile any time I need to “unwind”, if you catch my drift,” he explained. 

Hanzo barked out a short laugh in response, watching as McCree began to remove the cover of the security camera. 

“Yes, I believe I have caught your drift.” 

“So all’s I gotta do is pull out this here wire and…” McCree explained. Hanzo watched as the small red light next to the lense of the security camera blinked once, then faded to black. 

“There! We are officially off the grid.” 

\- - - - - 

“... and that’s called the ‘Capo’. That’s for hikin’ up the pitch, you don’t want to move your hand above it on the neck. Keep it right down here.... Start out with your fingers on these strings here, here … and here…” 

McCree always had some innovative and new idea after he had a few drinks in him. 

This time, it had started with Hanzo idly musing about their similarities. He compared his bow and arrow to McCree’s guitar playing, both stringed “instruments” of a sort, and wondered how the two compared to each other. 

When McCree offered to teach Hanzo how to play the guitar, the archer hadn’t expected for the lesson to begin immediately. 

Yet there they sat. On the bed, McCree’s back against the wall, and a lap-full of Hanzo Shimada. 

McCree looked over Hanzo’s shoulder, leading his hands into the right position. 

Hanzo was struggling to concentrate on the task at hand, the buzz of cheap alcohol,McCree’s scruffy beard scratching against his neck and the warm deep sound of the man’s baritone voice next to his ear proving to be quite distracting. McCree’s hands over his own, hot and cold, skin and metal, led Hanzo through the motions with such easy grace that the archer found he didn’t need to do much besides follow the taller man’s lead. 

They sat like that for some time, the same chords until they could move between them without pausing. The music was slow, only strumming along the strings of the guitar every 4 counts. 

They had nowhere to be. No meetings, no mission, no need to rush things. 

“Good, you got the hang of it. Think you can keep it up with words?” McCree asked. 

“With your hands to guide me,” Hanzo replied, without hesitation. 

McCree chuckled. 

“My hands are at your service,” he said. Without another word, they started from the top of the song. A few slow strums on the guitar, to set up the song, before McCree began to softly sing along. 

_“Kiss me out of the bearded barley, nightly besides the green green grass. Swing, swing, swing the spinning step, you wear those shoes and I will wear that hat… Oh…_

Hands down here… good. Now… 

_Kiss me beneath the milky twilight, Lead me out on the moonlit floor. Lift your open hand, strike up the band and make the fireflies dance, Silver moon's sparkling._

_So kiss me”_

Hanzo could have commented about how this didn’t sound like one of the country songs McCree usually played. There was no sadness in this one, no lonely nights wandering or reminiscing about the things that could have been but never were. 

It still suited McCree’s voice. The rough and smoky vocals dripped through Hanzo’s senses like warm honey. 

Hanzo stopped the music by laying his hand flat against the strings on the guitar. 

McCree, confused, carefully removed his hands from their position over Hanzo’s. 

“... had enough? Well, guess that’s as good a stopping point as any. Unless, that is, you want me to keep going on my own. Or…” 

Hanzo stopped McCree’s nervous jabbering by placing a hand reassuringly on his knee. 

“I have a request,” Hanzo explained. He felt McCree’s shoulders relax once more behind his own. 

“Oh? S’that all? Alright, shoot,” he said. 

Hanzo moved the guitar, setting it aside on the bed where it could rest safely. He turned in McCree’s arms, took one more look at his expression to make sure the cowboy was comfortable with their close proximity. 

Then, Hanzo took the shot, and pressed his lips against McCree’s. 

The shock must have been a delayed reaction. At first, instinctually, McCree responded. He moved his arms around Hanzo, embraced him tightly, and returned the kiss with a lazy but no less passionate enthusiasm. He dragged Hanzo down full into his lap, pressed their bodies as close together as possible, then gave a low groan of approval as one of Hanzo’s thumbs scratched over the hairs on McCree’s jaw-line. 

As soon as the noise left McCree’s throat, he stopped. 

Hanzo drew back, a slight pink flush dusted over his high cheek bones. It was a beautiful sight, compared to McCree’s slack-jawed astonishment. 

“... Was that too forward?” Hanzo asked. 

McCree blinked a few times, might have even rubbed at his eyes if his hands were not too busy holding tightly onto Hanzo’s clothing. 

“No,” he responded, finally ready to offer an explanation. “Not at all, God no, just the right amount of forward. I’m just shocked that this is really happening.” 

“Shocked? I thought you were aware.” 

“Aware of what?” 

“That I have been trying to seduce you.” 

From the look on McCree’s face, he had not been aware of Hanzo’s plans to court him, let alone the archer’s attraction to him. 

“... Say what now?” 

Hanzo couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Now don’t you laugh at me, I’m- you stop that! … now listen here, we are going to have a _long talk_ about this when I’m through with you,” McCree said. He playfully bit at Hanzo’s neck, before muffling his laughter with another kiss. 

\- - - - 

“So, let me know if I got this right. You liked the guitar playing, but you didn’t have any ‘Personal Interest’ in me until after we had a few conversations.” 

Hanzo hummed a low sound of approval. 

McCree sat up in bed, his back against the wall. Hanzo laid beside him, curled up, one arm slung over McCree’s lap. They were tired, energy spent, naked and still glistening with sweat from their previous love-making. 

“That means I got you beat,” McCree said. He had one of his ever-present cigars at his lips, careful not to aim the smoke from his mouth near his bed partner. 

“Beat? How so?” Hanzo asked. 

“Darlin’...” McCree crooned, reaching down with a free hand and gently moving his fingers through Hanzo’s loose hair. “I’ve been singing my heart out to you from the moment I knew you were listenin’.” 

Hanzo leaned his head into the touch. In turn, he took McCree’s hand in his own, bringing it to his lips and gently kissing his palm. 

“Then, I am the one who has beaten you,” Hanzo said, accompanying the sweet gesture with a playful retort. “I began my act of seduction after you, and acted on it first as well.”

“You got me there,” McCree mused. “Your win, sweetheart. Mighty fine win, if I do say so myself,” he said. McCree’s hand went down to stroke along Hanzo’s arm, fingers gently tracing over the intricate detailed ink covering the skin. “A win like that deserves a prize. What’ll it be, Han? Whiskey? Kisses? Public humiliation?” 

Hanzo shook his head, and chuckled. 

“No. I shall have those kisses later. With the whiskey, perhaps… but for now…” he began. Hanzo made himself comfortable, pulling his arm back to free up McCree’s lap. 

“Just sing me some more of your sad cowboy songs. I would like that.” 

McCree leaned down to pick the guitar up from the floor, where it had been safely relocated to avoid getting caught up in their intimate activities. 

“Anything for you, Darlin’,” McCree said, and began to pluck at the strings of his guitar. 

And though he couldn’t see the moon, nor the stars in the sky, nor the sun peeking up over the mountains, Hanzo felt something like peace wash over him and fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Willie Nelson - Red Headed Stranger (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wuyzrqEA2DQ) 
> 
> Johnny Cash - Bird on the Wire (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6eY7bGaccWI)  
> The song is originally by Leonard Cohen, but I had the Johnny Cash version in mind when I wrote this fic, and think it would suit McCree better. 
> 
> Willie Nelson - Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=crgtWomWg90) 
> 
> Patsy Cline - I Fall to Pieces (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dgm1ENYFhtQ) 
> 
> Sixpence None the Richer - Kiss Me (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pTLnlkrCK8c)  
> Alright so Sixpence None the Richer is TECHNICALLY not Country, but it's country inspired and heck, maybe in the future Sixpence none the Richer IS considered classical country music, who knows? I had to have it in my fic and had to make it gay. 
> 
> Extra:  
> Stanley Brinks and the Wave Pictures - Orange Juice (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZRu8ZnQ_MgU)  
> The lyrics aren't in the fic, but I had this song in mind as the one McCree was singing with all of the other members of Overwatch in the cafeteria! A McHanzo artist on tumblr mentioned the song and I haven't been able to stop listening to it since
> 
> Thanks for reading!!! I hope you liked it! :]


End file.
